


Knights And Roundtable Shit

by x_x



Series: Johnny Gat, The Boss, And Shit [2]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: after carlos dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 11:38:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9383330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_x/pseuds/x_x
Summary: The Boss doesn't handle Carlos's death too well. Enter Johnny.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place sometime after 'RPG Launcher In A Shitstack', immediately after the Red Asphalt mission.

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

 

In. Out. Keep breathing. In. Out.

 

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Heart pounding.

 

Swaying. Blinking. Bleeding. Nah-- nah, barely any of it's yours.

 

It's all Carlos.

 

In. Out. In.

 

You gotta clear out. In. Out.

 

Clear your head. Focus. **Focus**. Or you're dead.

 

Like Carlos. In. Out. In.

 

Let go of his hand. He's gone. Out.

 

In. Out. In.

 

You have to leave his body. Out.

 

In. Out.

 

Go. Move it. Drop his hand. Let go.

 

In. Out.

 

His fingers fall away and as they slip past yours, resist the urge to grasp them again. That's not Carlos anymore. You were too late. In. Out. Time to go.

 

What is all this anyway? It made sense at one time. It made sense in your mind. It made sense to Carlos, but Carlos was all fucked up. So fucked up. And yet, he was still there enough to know that there was only one way to go. You fucked up. You're fucked up. In. Out. In. Out. It's time to go. Fuck. Fuck. **Fuck** in--

 

Out.

 

Up, onto your feet now. Drenched. Rain. You look up. (You spent so long looking down already.) Start walking. Go. Out. In. Out. In. Raining. The last time you had this same feeling…. Aisha's funeral. Goddammit it. Was it the same for her too? Was she frightened before she died? Frightened and alone and hurting. And still, defiant to her last breath when she called out to warn Johnny about the Ronin.

 

Had Carlos been the same? Defiant? Or had he just been frightened, tortured, screaming the whole time? Screaming for an end. Screaming for you. Screaming out. In. Out. In. Out. In.

 

You still gotta tell the others.

 

Fuck.

 

By reflex, the first person you think to dial is Johnny.

 

"Hey, Boss, 'bout time," he says, and you're amazed at how much hearing his voice grounds you as well as makes you feel like you're crumpling up even more on the inside. There's a raucous of noise and music behind him. Purgatory awaits, but you find nothing welcoming in the thought of home right now. "You guys headed back? Or gotta hit the hospital first?"

 

In. Out. In.

 

"…Yo. Boss?"

 

"Johnny," you say. Out. Pause to steady yourself. In. "Tell the Saints that I wanna hear the fucking _instant_ any one of you gets location on Maero's gingerskank three-holed bag of bones."

 

But there must be something about your voice because then Gat asks, "Boss, where are you?"

 

Hang up before you can snap, _Aw, jus' strolling through the park--_ _I'm five fucking feet away from what used to be Carlos, Gat, where the FUCK do you think I am_?'

 

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. You'll tell the others the details later. They'll catch word of this in the news later. Either way, it's too soon. Carlos was too soon. And you…. You weren't soon enough, were you, Boss?

 

It's like Lin all over again except worse for the fact that it's happened again. Aisha all over again except worse for the fact that it's happened _again_. You didn't reassess the risk of one of yours getting hurt, and you just let it happen. Again. It's a tough business-- that's what you tell yourself-- you know you should get used to it and them's the breaks when you make enemies but-- but tonight…. Tough business goes both ways.

 

You're bad at letting go. It was the same when Johnny got taken down. That had been your fault, too. And boy did that fuck with you for the longest time.

 

This will fuck with you for the longest time.

 

Carlos is…was a bit like Johnny in that regard. He was there from the moment you woke up from that coma, filled you in on everything, helped break you out of prison, got _shanked_ for your ass. Carlos was true to you from the get-go. You knew the moment your boat hit land that he was gonna be welcome in your squad no matter what state the Saints were in. All the plans you had for the Saints, they all included Carlos.

 

You had told Carlos, too…. You told him you'd make a lieutenant of him, you swore it on your life. Now where does that leave you, Boss?

 

In. Out. In. Out.

 

In. Out.

 

In.

 

A car stops behind you. The driver honks, spitting out obscenities about you blocking the road. Turn around. Shoot her. Headshot. Throw her body on the road. Take her car to the nearest Friendly Fire.

 

Out.

 

 

 

 

 

It's only after the third Brotherhood Stronghold overthrow that you collapse, guns still smoking, and you're still feeling hot all over like you could be setting off steam as rain hits your skin.

 

Well, you ain't dead, yet. And it feels horrible. But maybe that's your retribution coming out of all this. Coming in.

 

And out.

 

You look over at the hallowed building and wonder why it doesn't feel like enough. You've lost count of how many reds you've killed. It doesn't feel like near enough. You wonder if that'll help Carlos rest a bit easier. Probably not. No matter how many Brotherhood you waste, Carlos can't benefit from shit anymore.

 

In. Out.

 

But you can.

 

You think you remember Pierce talking about another Stronghold across town. Check your map.

 

"Boss."

 

Blink. In. Out. Look up. Johnny's standing above you, looking down. There are shadows over his features, from the high angle of the streetlamp nearby. You hold a hand up to cover your eyes from the bright halo of the orange light.

 

"Johnny." What is he doing out here? "It's raining." Before you can think about how stupid they are, the words are out. In.

 

"No shit, fuckhead," he says. He crouches down so he's closer to eye-level with you, but he's also eyeing the ammo you got on you, the blood all over you, the rain-sodden map open on your lap with smudged red Xs. "C'mon, I'm here to pick you up."

 

Immediately say, "I'm busy." Look back down at the map. How far away is that Stronghold? Where are you again? Fuck, why is it so hard to think all of a sudden….

 

"Oh, _excuse me_ , your fuckin' highness, for interrupting." Hey, the asshole's mocking you.

 

Frown as you look back up. "What, you want in?"

 

Johnny scoffs. "Now, ordinarily, I'd say hell yes, but that's not what I had in mind."

 

"Johnny." You don't mean for your voice to sound as weak as it does, but now that the adrenaline's ebbing, you're feeling more and more groggy and your whole body is starting to hurt like you just spent the day working insurance fraud. You need to get back and moving before the momentum's zapped completely. "I ain't in the mood for hoes."

 

"Wrong again, Boss."

 

"So quit fucking around already." Even those words are without malice. For some reason, you've never been able to raise attitude against Johnny.

 

Johnny shifts his weight, like he's uncomfortable or something with what he's about to say. Then, "Let's…kick it at the digs tonight."

 

"Huh?" You stare at him.

 

Somehow, you know he's talking about the suite at the hotel. But it only ever becomes 'the' (yours and Johnny's) digs if one of the two of you clear it out. Did he, then? And why the hell? In the past you two only ever made it private so as to recoup after being hurt. And looking him over, Johnny looks fine. You release a breath you didn't know you were holding. Out. Good. So why, then?

 

Johnny stands up and offers you his hand.

 

"C'mon, don't leave me hanging, man. Any other Brotherhood hold not knee-high in their own piss after the work you've done tonight'll still be there in the morning." After another moment passes of you staring dumbly at him, he jabs his hand out impatiently. "Yo, it's _raining_!"

 

That wakes you up a little, and clasp your palm against his. It's always been difficult turning Johnny down. Another residual habit when you worked under him.

 

You're surprised at how your legs sort of crumple immediately after you get to standing. You're even more surprised as how quickly Johnny shifts his weight, so that your arm is hooked around his neck and he's fully supporting you. As he starts walking, you have a sudden recollection of how strong Johnny Gat is.

 

It reminds you of the night after you killed Akuji. Hell, it's practically a play-by-play. Johnny's dragging your lame ass to the car, and you two are gonna go back to the hotel suite. Apparently.

 

Well, at least the bed there rotates, and you've always thought that to be a pretty sweet perk.

 

"How much blood you lose?" Johnny asks, breaking into your thoughts. But his voice is overpowered by the rain; the drops are coming down so heavily, it's like someone's got the volume maxed on a TV playing white noise.

 

"None," you say, with some amount of glee. It's all the Brotherhood's. A good handful bled all over you from being used as shields. And you'd lost balance a few times over how slick the floor had gotten from Brotherhood stuffing. Not to mention, even before that, there'd already been blood on you from-- In. Out. "I'm...fine. " In. Out. In. Out.

 

"Yeah," Johnny scoffs. He's got a grim look on his face. "Okay."

 

 

 

 

Apparently you're not completely unscathed like you first assumed, if the sharp throbs of pain lit up by the hot shower are anything to go by anyway. You still don't even bother looking them over. You still don't want to be here.

 

Maybe you can sneak back out, once Johnny falls asleep.

 

But when you step out of the bathroom, Johnny's waving you over to the chair. He's got all the first aid shit laid out on the dinner table, an open beer nearby, and a lit joint in his hand.

 

"Shirt off," he says, smoke puffing from his mouth. "C'mon. Let me take a look at your busted ass."

 

There's room enough in the quiet that follows for a quip or some other sassy remark, but nothing comes to mind, especially when Johnny practically stuffs the cold end of the joint past your lips. You hold a long drag off the j, when you quell the scratchy sensation in your throat by chugging down the beer. Maybe exhaustion has to do with it, but it all hits immediately. You sit down. Hand Johnny your top, let him have his gander of you.

 

His fingers brush near the spot on your upper back that felt especially like it was being flayed open when the shower ran on it.

 

"This one's pretty," is Johnny's comment. Which probably means it's fucking gnarly, but you like his words better. 'Til he goes, "Pretty enough to wrap up."

 

And you know where this is going. You're grateful for the booze and bud, and you have an onset of newfound appreciation for Johnny's planning ahead. But that's why he's your right hand, yeah?

 

You feel the needle pierce raw wound.

 

"F _uck_!" Your breath hisses out of you. You don't mean to jump so bad, but it hurts worse than it usually does. You don't know why.

 

"Easy, easy, keep still." Johnny places a hand full on your shoulder. "Hold it together, man. Talk to me. What went down tonight?"

 

Fuck. What didn't go down tonight?

 

Everything. Down.

 

In. Out. In. Out.

 

Carlos.

 

Johnny starts again, and you feel the needle go

 

 _In_.

 

"I fucked up, Johnny," you say, words out in rushed breath. Everything hurts. And this needle-and-flesh shit ain't helping. "They shackled him to the back of a truck and dragged him fucking facedown along the street. I don't know for how long before I got there. And when I finally stopped the truck, Carlos wasn't even--"

 

Your throat clamps as the needle pushes in at an angle that startles you.

 

"You're tensing up again," Johnny grumbles. He places a hand-- warm and large-- over the back of your neck. "Try being less sober. It works."

 

He gives you a break to fetch another beer, which is probably your cue to down what remains of the first one. By the time he wrenches the new bottle open, you're drawing another hit. Upon exhale, you're finally a decent amount of stoned and buzzing.

 

Johnny's hands are on you again, fingers pushing gently against skin, and your eyes fall shut at the sensation.

 

"He was still _alive_ ," you continue, and your voice comes out wimpy, meek, but it sets of an explosion of recall, reverberating in your mind.

 

You shake your head to be rid of it, but Johnny's hand stops you-- _keep still_.

 

"There was no way. I could see-- there pieces of his _jaw_ missing. So much _bone_ poking out and shit. He was in too much pain to wait for me to get the chains off. He wanted me to do it."

 

He wanted you to do it.

 

He looked at you, took your hand, groaning.

 

He _wanted_ you to do it.

 

"He couldn't even talk--" _He just gargled._ "--but I knew he wanted me to--"

 

He _wanted_ you to do it.

 

Didn't he?

 

It was the only way.

 

Wasn't it?

 

A hospital would've been too far. And they'd have to call the fire department to get him dislodged from the fucking truck. And of course they'd get the 5-0 involved, and the police would ask their bitch fucking questions, and the aftermath of a gang dispute meant the cops wouldn't do motherfucking _shit_ until you cut some kind of deal, probably wouldn't stop haggling until you agreed to hand yourself over for arrest, and meanwhile Carlos would've been gargling and groaning and weeping, dying slow--

 

"I offed him." Your voice is barely above a whisper, and just saying the words tears you apart like you just took a grenade in the stomach.

 

It might be the weed and the brew, but everything seems out of focus in that moment. You just see Carlos, mangled and red, and you hear the battered screaming noises he'd choked on because his throat was so full of blood, torn open, and you feel the way his hand jerked from when you pulled the trigger. You'd been looking him in the eyes (fuck, what was left of them), and you knew the exact moment he…

 

Johnny's hands are on your shoulders. He's kneeling in front of you, and you have to focus yourself to hold eye contact with him, bracing yourself for the worst.

 

His expression doesn't change, though. It doesn't twist into anger or disgust, and he doesn't start whooping on you or even yell.

 

He says, "You did good, Boss."

 

Johnny's hands aren't what might feel good to normal people, you think. They're rough, lukewarm; they remind you of the dirty rags you used to pull over yourself at night as a child. You think, they're hands for people like you. The comfort of people like you. He gives you a measured squeeze before letting go, slaps you lightly on the chin.

 

"Put your shirt on. Come finish your beer on the couch with me." He picks up the dead j and the bottle off the desk.

 

Listen to Johnny. Your body sort of just does, no thinking required, and that in itself is a comfort on its own. It makes you think back to when Johnny had his own office set up at the old church, sending you off to do all sorts of shit. These days he doesn't really do much shot-calling. But there's some weird relief to be found in how he's doing it now.

 

You grunt as your shirt fabric runs over the mess of bruises and scrapes, all obnoxiously tender now. The weed's got you a mess of numb and oversensitive. And gravity, in particular, is overwhelming.

 

"Ay, watch the stitches!" Johnny grouses as you flop onto the cushions haphazardly. He's relighting the joint. "I hate re-doing shit!"

 

Note how he doesn't say he won't re-do it.

 

He hands you the joint.

 

Suck.

 

He hands you the beer.

 

Drink.

 

Tilt your head back as the room twirls.

 

You're drifting the next corner to catch up to that truck with the red streaks behind it.

 

You're standing up from Carlos's body, vision lurching.

 

You're spinning your rifle forward to take out a line of Brotherhood in shitbrained single-file.

 

The earth makes it rotations-- circle of life-- just like smoke drifting into patterns above your head-- just like the alcohol following the curve of the glass encasing it.

 

Goddamn you are so gone at this point.

 

Johnny's being kind of creepy in the meantime, not that you've got the mind to care beyond noticing. He's just staring at you, watching you get fucked up.

 

"Wigging me out, Gat," you mumble. The word is carried on a tide of smoke.

 

Johnny shakes his head. "I was… I was thinkin' 'bout Eesh again. I wanna talk to you."

 

"Yeah, of course, Johnny," you say, suddenly needing to be more alert. Gat's not one to rely on words. He usually mows down some pigs to sort out his feelings. But it's difficult, trying to keep focused even as blazed as you are. "Lay it down."

 

"Are you…," he says, and then trails off.

 

Are you, what? Too fucking baked, yeah. But you got the feeling that's not what he's asking. So, then what? Are you...

 

Satisfied? Stupid? That angry? Completely fuckin' ruined over this Carlos thing? God, you're turnt to eleven on all of the above. You snicker a bit at that-- what a hapless piece of shit you turned out to be.

 

Johnny's talking again. "Are you… _trying_ to put me through the same shit I went through with Aisha, all over again?"

 

You stare at him for a loaded moment, screwing your face up. "You were that tight with Carlos?"

 

Now that you think about it, you don't think Johnny ever really even _liked_ Carlos. He always ignored him, and had no qualms about telling Carlos to fuck off if he wanted to talk to you in private. You allowed it since you thought it would help toughen Carlos up, like it did to you. (Although now, you wish you'd stuck up for him.)

 

"I'm talking about _you_ , shit-for-brains!" Johnny looks like he's about to wallop you. "You were seriously out of your fucking mind tonight!"

 

Well, that's odd. Usually when Johnny says you're out of your mind, he says it with awe and pride, like he's stoked as hell and wants to see more of it. Just now, he sounded…upset.

 

"Boss. I know you're hurting. Believe me. You don't think I'm still going through it? I know what it's like, losing someone."

 

"What the fuck is this?" You can't help but giggle. "Johnny, I'm alive." Carlos is the one who…. You stop giggling.

 

"Yeah, fortune favored the dumbass tonight-- but this shit with Carlos, it's screwing with you a hell of an awful lot. And usually, I'll butt the fuck out if it ain't my business, but this is something that'll affect the Saints if you let this go on. You can't afford to be careless."

 

"I _wasn't_ careless!" you snap before you can even think to contain yourself.

 

Johnny barks out a laugh, but it's a scathing, surprisingly hateful sound. "Fuck that! You were so out of it, stumbling out of that Stronghold, not a goddamn ounce of wherewithal! Talk about easy fucking target. You realize you got a mark on you right? You realize who the fuck you _are_ , right?"

 

"I would've noticed before anyone got the jump," you insist lamely.

 

"You didn't even realize I was there until I spoke to you." Johnny's voice cracks, but he quickly coughs right after. "I could've been anyone. I could've shot you in the fucking head before you even looked up."

 

"I said, I would've noticed! Goddamn, did you get me faded just so you can bitch at me and not have me deck the shit out of you?"

 

Johnny huffs, leans back in his seat. "Partly." He really doesn't look happy.

 

Fucking fuck. It's only now you start realizing that with all the tree and booze Johnny's been coaxing down your throat, he hasn't partaken at all. Fucking _fuck_. It's just as well that you're having a bad enough night-- you got an attitude to match his. "Oh, what, and the other part was to laugh at how fucking out of it I get? Just a bitchass featherweight, right?"

 

"No." Johnny's voice goes quiet.

 

"I thought this was about Aisha."

 

"It is! It's fucking connected-- just shut the fuck up for a second. For real."

 

The high's really setting in now. Your weight's sunk deep into the cushions behind you. You couldn't stand up if you wanted to. And damn, you feel too physically comfortable, warm all over from the beer too. He's got you here for as long as he wants. Fucking trapped. The lyrics to "My Body Is A Cage" float through your consciousness and you make a note to punch Gat soon as you're able.

 

Cover your eyes with the back of your hand as you feel the room sway slightly. Mutter, "All fuckin' ears, asshole."

 

Of course, that's when Johnny goes fucking silent. Might be a good thing, considering you're not even sure if you'd be able to focus on his words at this point anyway. For all you know, he could be talking and you're too delayed to catch on.

 

But then, he starts talking again. Open your eyes and sure enough, yeah, his mouth is moving.

 

"The point I was getting at…you fuckin' scared me tonight."

 

You scrunch your face at him. "Johnny Gat doesn't get scared."

 

Johnny's stiff expression doesn't change. "No one could get a hold of you. You weren't picking up your phone. We knew shit must've gone down with Carlos, the way you sounded on the phone-- we didn't know where you were, if you'd done something stupid, if the Brotherhood had gotten to you and finished you off too."

 

Oh. Remember Johnny in the rain earlier, saying he was there to pick you up. You hadn't called for pick-up. Or told anyone where you'd be. There would've been no way to track you down besides just driving around looking. You're surprised he'd put in that kind of effort.

 

Johnny somehow knows the exact moment your thoughts catch pace, and continues. "I finally caught wind of what the hell you were up to when I found the trail of Brotherhood carcasses lining the sidewalks. And the trail was getting sloppy. You're lucky I stopped you before you ran off to the next Stronghold. That might've been the last one for you, for good."

 

You get a flash of fury, subdued only by the crossfade overlay. If you were gonna die, it sure as hell wouldn't be from some shitty nameless Brotherhood fucks. You got a yen to run out the door right fucking now and take down another Stronghold, fuck how out of it you are--

 

" _Sit the fuck back down before I knock your ass to the floor_ ," Johnny says and you tense on reflex, because it's in a tone he hasn't used against you in years."I ain't done talkin' yet."

 

Suddenly, you're back in his office, in the old church, and he's your superior with all the divine right to shoot you down. In an instant, you're nameless again. Silent. It's a place you never wanted to be again.

 

You throw your fist.

 

Johnny doesn't even bother to block or dodge. The blow sails way out of target, and you find your whole body dragging after the force before landing right on top of the very man you were attempting to punch.

 

You can't help but snort and snigger, trying to muffle the noises by shoving your face into the side of Johnny's neck.

 

"You're really testing me, you know that?" Johnny sighs.

 

You snigger some more, anger almost completely dissipated. You attempt to move, but only get yourself as far as propping yourself up on his chest. "…I'm _really_ high."

 

(That high, and it still isn't high enough to not notice Johnny's fingers are under your shirt, tracing your stitches, making sure they haven't torn.)

 

He shoves you back over to your side of the couch. "Yeah, glad to see you feeling so fuckin' cheery now that I'm pouring my fucking heart out here. Asshole." But there's no malice in Johnny's words. And the smile on his face is genuine.

 

Actually, it's the same smile he had on the docks, after you wrecked Akuji.

 

Then, it hits you. That's the smile he only ever directed at Aisha. That sweet, gentle, fucking _caring_ smile. And he's directing it at you now. Suddenly, you don't feel like joking about engagements and romance. It's gotten too real.

 

You're not sure if Johnny even realizes with how easily he just looks you over. Or maybe he does realize and it doesn't bother him at all. Either way, the new patch of insight causes lumps to form in your throat.

 

Johnny finally shakes his head, breaking eye contact with a chuckle.

 

"Listen, ever since Aisha, I've been feeling like I've got nothing left. It's such a lonely, shitty feeling. But you know what levels me? Knowing I got the Saints." His voice gets quieter. "Knowing I still got you around. I still got somewhere to go, somewhere I fit."

 

Slowly, and it's hard to tell if he's doing it on purpose to make sure you actually process his words.

 

"I never got into this, but. I was pissed as hell when I found out what happened to you. First Lin-- and then I find out Troy's a fuckin' pig, and Dex's a turncoat, and Julius is AWOL-- and you were blown to shit. I didn't know how intact you were. I thought I'd never see you again. When I found out Troy might've been involved, I went after his narc fucking ass."

 

"Right, that worked out pretty well," you snicker.

 

"Ay, fuck you, asshole, I got sentenced after that shit. Dark time for me, for real. And coming from me, that's saying a lot."

 

"Carlos, ah--" Keep going. Gotta keep moving forward, Boss. "--he mentioned something like that. You giving everyone the cold shoulder. I didn't really believe him-- still can't picture it, you just bumming around like some moody teenaged asswipe."

 

"Yeah, it wasn't exactly a good night's sleep. _Ah-hem_." Johnny stares at you pointedly. "Plus, not all of us scored an immediate prison break, like _some_ lucky fucks."

 

Shrug. "I would've broken you out if I wasn't in a coma!"

 

Johnny laughs, but it sounds mangled somehow. A sad sound. "I know. That's the fucking thing. I was about to get the death sentence when suddenly you pop the fuck back up. And you just-- you made everything right again. Immediately. Everything was going to such shit, and I was sick of it all, and you just…easily...."

 

"Johnny…," you trail off, because what the hell can you even say to that? You want to say it's the exact opposite. The only reason you got this far is because Johnny's been here-- he's done it all before. He found the perfect place for the hideout, and at the start, it was primarily his street cred keeping your gang in line.

 

He doesn't seem to think so, though. He goes, "Look at me, you motherfucker. The minute you were out of my life, things fell apart. The minute you came back, everything fell back together. I've liked you since the start, man, but seeing you show up out of nowhere in that courtroom-- I was about to fuckin' propose to you, judge present and all."

 

Damn. _Way to kick me when I'm down, Johnny_ , you wanna say, but it's not about you right now. You force your eyes open and make yourself turn your head to look Johnny in the eye, through the haze of the buzz and tree. He's right. The asshole's right. You can't fall apart at the seams and let the Saints go and fuck over everything both of you worked so hard to build. You can't do that to the Saints. You can't do that to Johnny. And you can't give that laugh to Julius's fuckin' ghost.

 

"Listen-- I'm fucking done with funerals," Johnny declares then. "The way I see it, either I bust a fuckin' cap in your dome right here…or you swear to me: No more stupid, crazy shit."

 

You stare at him, a weight of dread building in your gut.

 

"Without me," Johnny continues. When you let out a surprised, relieved laugh, he smiles. "Two psychos are better than one, am I right? And in exchange, I swear I'll follow you straight into hell if I have to. …So?"

 

And fuck if it doesn't feel exactly like the proposal he'd talked about earlier at this point. Fuck if it doesn't sound like a win-win deal, like you're too stupid not to take it, like it doesn't get your blood rushing hot, your heart racing, your stomach twisting up in knots, and your high spiral up into delerium.

 

Johnny snorts. "On second thought, not right now, asshole. We're gonna swear in when you're sober. You're faded to hell, grinning like the fucking chesire cat right now."

 

"Fuck that-- here and now!" You lurch forward at him, groping haphazardly. "Gimme your fucking hand, Gat. This shit's for real, got it?"

 

A bit solemn now, he clasps your hand in his. "For real, then."

 

The emotions welled up in your chest, cored at the center of your very being, that you feel for Johnny Gat in that moment are indescribable and incomparable to anything you've experienced before.

 

Everything between you both surpasses whatever led to Dex's abandonment, Troy's betrayal, or Julius's fucked up sense of morality. Runs deeper than wearing the same flags.

 

It's some knights and roundtable shit.

 

Straight up, knights and roundtable shit.

 

"Alright, alright, let go, you look way too fucking happy and I'm getting skeeved out, so just--"

 

You toss yourself right onto his chest, snuggling into his throat like a happy fucking mutt whose owner just came home.

 

Johnny's voice raises a pitch. "I said fuck off, creep!"

 

You don't, though. You're gone and you're exalted and you got _Johnny_ , for life, for _ever_ , and you know now more than ever that that means you can take anything as long as he's here, and all of this is exactly how it's supposed to be. You may be grinning like an idiot, but he is too, and he starts straight up laughing after your foreheads slam into each other from the struggle.

 

 

_You don't remember letting go. You must've blacked out somewhere around then. But you do remember Johnny pulling the covers over you in the bed. The lights were already off, and you felt the mattress shift as he settled down on the other side._

 

_You ask him to make the bed rotate. He calls you a fuckhead._

 

_But he fucking does it, is the thing._

 

 

 

 

The next morning, it's breakfast in bed, and beer for breakfast. You and Johnny are watching TV when your phone rings.

 

"Ay, ay, pause-- it's Shaundi."

 

"Who gives a fuck?" Johnny's eyeroll is so dramatic, you see it over the top of his glasses.

 

"Holy shit, can you manage _one minute_ without my attention?" You fling your foot at his face.

 

He catches it before it connects and the two of you lazily try to outstrength each other single-limbed like this. "That _is_ a talk we oughtta have one day. But this is Bobby and Amber!"

 

You pull your foot back, because hell, it _is_ Bobby and Amber. Still, you answer. "Shaundi, I'm watching Bobby and Amber. Can this wait?"

 

Turns out, it can't. Not when you got a location on that redheaded _cunt_ that thought she could get away with the shit she pulled on Carlos. Justice will be served on a golden, bloody saucer once you're through. You're throwing on your clothes before Shaundi's even done speaking.

 

"Boss!" Johnny calls from the couch. He's got that weird smile on his face again when you glance over. "Let's take out another Brotherhood Stronghold once you're done, yeah?"

 

"Freckle Bitch's first," you agree as you make your way up the stairs. "I'm gonna be hungry when I'm through."

 

He says, "I'm in."

 

Just like that, you're out.


End file.
